


Doctor Predictable

by doctormissy



Series: 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge, Christmas, Doctor Who Christmas Special, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Television Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9149593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: How do Sherlock and John spend Christmas? Watching DW special!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part six of 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge.   
> It's canon. Moffat said they're doing that. _How are Sherlock and John spending christmas this year? --Watching the Doctor Who Christmas Special, The Return Of Doctor Mysterio, on Christmas Day. SM_ (can be found [here](http://pbstv.tumblr.com/post/154517251233/how-are-sherlock-and-john-spending-christmas-this))
> 
> So yeah, ofc I wrote it. Probably badly. May contain minor spoilers for the special if you haven't seen it.

The ads were finally over, and images from an old Superman comic replaced them in a second. _The Return of Doctor Mysterio_ , this year’s _Doctor Who_ Christmas special, was on.

“It’s on! John, it’s on!” shouted Sherlock, sitting on the sofa and waiting for his partner to return from the kitchen with the bloody nuts already. Why did it take him so long? The programme has begun!

“Yes, coming!” John shouted a response. He did not sound exactly decisive, though. “Just a minute.” 

But he did not have a minute. Or, the Doctor swinging on a rope in God-knows-what height (somewhere between floor fifty and seventy, by the wind, possible length of rope, and background landscape) did not have a minute. Sherlock cocked his head in kitchen’s direction, volatile.

At last, the blond-and-greying head emerged from the doorway. John, dressed in an ugly jumper with a snowman and trees and candy canes to honour the tradition, bore a bowl of almonds and peanuts and two mugs of steaming eggnog on a tray, and wore a smile on his face that deepened as he saw Sherlock return it.

Ah, that was why it took him so long. Sherlock thought he had smelled eggnog. 

“Come and sit, John, you’ve already missed the beginning. It might have not appeared important, but that is why it most certainly is.” 

“It’s no tragedy, Sherlock.” John laid the tray on the – somewhat overflowing – coffee table, and plopped down on the couch tight next to him with the popcorn in one hand. 

Sherlock ate few excess almonds that have left the bowl and ended up in his lap or the space where their legs touched, and wrapped an instinctive arm round John’s shoulders. From then, however, he focused on the show solely. He did not want to miss a second. 

 

They ran out of nuts roughly round the time Sherlock said he couldn’t watch it anymore, because everyone was idiotic and missing the obvious, the reporter whose name he did not bother to remember in particular.

Oh, he hated superhero films for always missing the obvious (the Doctor _did have a point_ ) – why did they have to put superheroes in _Doctor Who_ , too? The series was perfect and unique for the time travel and alien planets with no American pop culture mixed in, and Steven Moffat of course had to ruin that.

“Don’t watch it, then,” suggested John, always forgetting how traumatising dilemmas as that were. It was not that simple. “Go get us some popcorn or something, if it disturbs you, but remember you were the one who insisted I can’t miss a single second.” 

“Course I remember that, don’t be silly,” Sherlock riposted with a barely audible snort. “And no, you can’t, and I can’t.” _It’s frustrating._

“But you said you can’t _watch_ it anymore.” John grudgingly averted his gaze from the telly, and looked at Sherlock’s concerned face. The detective was frowning. He couldn’t tell if it were because of him or the programme. 

“I have to watch it, don’t you see? I need to know how it ends!” Sherlock replied. He raised his voice a little. A while longer and he would start to shout. He knew him all too well. 

_I am immersed too deep in this. Once I start watching something, particularly when it regards Doctor Who, I can’t leave, John. You know that. It has been years._

Even so, he couldn’t help himself. Sherlock was behaving as a six-year-old again. “You probably figured out how it ends!” he noted, also raising his voice.

“Yes, but that is beside the point. Now stop talking, dear, I cannot concentrate.” He shifted on the spot, slightly irritated. The focused, pondering expression he always had when solving a case was back on. 

The Doctor and his funny companion Nardole have just transported themselves on a spaceship. It was beginning to get more thrilling and interesting. 

John sighed, ad reached for the cooling eggnog. He really wished he had put more vodka in it.

He loved Sherlock anyway.


End file.
